


you're already home where you feel loved

by bropunzeling



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bropunzeling/pseuds/bropunzeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paulie owns a Fair Isle sweater with a knitted moose on it.</p><p>“It’s an elk, Nealer,” Paulie says, sounding way too put upon. “We have them in Minnesota.”</p><p>(Or; that time Paulie took Nealer home for Thanksgiving.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're already home where you feel loved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amorekay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorekay/gifts).



> This exists because I told Kay that I thought Paul Martin was Minnesotan enough to be a secret member of my family, and she said, "Write it," and I was like "No... yeah okay sure, just gimme a few." Thanks to nebulia, who double checked for accurate Midwestern vibes, merrin, who never lets me use three commas where one will do, and amorekay, for both making me do this and finding me all the articles I ever needed on Paul Martin and his family.
> 
> Quick note: 1, this was written with the assumption that Nealer hadn't gotten his ass injured this early into the season (oh, Nealer) and b) we're disregarding the fact that apparently Nealer has already had Thanksgiving with the Martins back in 2010, even though that is both beautiful and hilarious for a million reasons.

Paulie owns a Fair Isle sweater with a knitted moose on it.

“It’s an elk, Nealer,” Paulie says, sounding way too put upon. “We have them in Minnesota.”

“But why the fuck do you have a sweater with a moose on it?” These are important questions, and James requires answers.

“It’s a family thing,” Paulie replies, and he turns back towards his stall to towel off his hair some more, apparently ending the discussion.

James frowns and turns away, though not before taking a second to absently admire the way the sweater looks when stretched over Paulie’s shoulders. Nordic stereotypes look good on him, though the minute the thought hits him James instantly tries to unthink it again.

He stares at the floor or scans the other half of the locker room, not glancing back at Paulie’s stall until he has to leave, and then only for a second. It’s empty so James feels like the coast is clear until he looks up to see Paulie in front of him, dangling a set of keys.

“Come on James, we carpooled, remember?” Paulie says, and James shivers a bit, almost uncontrollably.

“Yeah,” he says back, and he gets up, buttoning his winter coat and trying hard not to stare at the set of Paul’s shoulders as they walk through Consol towards the parking lot.

He wishes he could blame that part on the sweater, but even he’s not that stupidly self-deceptive.

The thing is, this whole … thing hasn’t really been around for a while. James only started noticing it during the summer, after enough time to lick his wounds from the disastrous series against Boston, and, well. Once he was far enough from the playoffs, he realized he was missing Pittsburgh a lot more than usual, and then it wasn’t Pittsburgh, it was his neighborhood, and then it wasn’t his neighborhood, it wasn’t even his own house – it was Paulie’s.

And then he wasn’t just missing Pittsburgh, he was missing Paulie, in like, more than a friends way. Which, well. James doesn’t really know how to deal with that.

Even worse is the fact that James knows that he can’t really say anything. Normally James has managed to keep his dumb crushes on friends of friends, dudes he only sees every once and a while or girls his non-hockey friends know, not on the co-workers he sees every fucking day. Sure, Paulie’s a great fucking dude, he’s James’ friend, but he’s also, to the best of James’ knowledge, straight in a way that leads to probably settling down with some buxom blonde who lives in a small town by a lake and has a last name beginning with “Van”. So, you know, there aren’t really a lot of options except just sitting quietly and waiting out his stupid feelings.

All James has to do is completely ignore the little twist in his stomach that comes whenever Paulie is, he doesn’t know, big and broad, or talking on the phone in his dumb accent, or smiling, or _anything_ , really, and he’ll be fine.

He nods to himself, squares his shoulders, and braves the cold of the parking lot as he follows Paulie to the car. Yeah. He’ll be alright.

-

Obviously, James isn’t as good as being alright as he thought, because that night at the bar after their win, Beau flushed from too many bizarre shots and Sid smiling enough for Flower to start taking pictures, Geno slides right in next to him. That part isn’t unusual in and of itself – Geno’s always liked to goad James into doing too many shots, because James never knows how to quit even with the promise of a truly horrific hangover looming in his future. However, tonight Geno’s been practically plastered to Sid’s side, one arm looped around Sid’s neck as they toasted the truly beautiful set of backhands they turned out on the powerplay.

So yeah, Geno coming over to sit next to James, especially while Sid makes a pouty face that James does his best to pretend not to see, that’s unexpected.

“Lazy!” Geno hollers, his breath warm and smelling strongly of the vodka shots they did an hour ago, or possibly twenty minutes ago. James isn’t too sure.

“Hey, G,” James says back, leaning away a little in order to escape Geno’s arms, which in this stage of drunkenness should be classified as lethal weapons. As he does it, his eyes catch on the end of the table, where Paulie’s talking to Brooksie and drinking one of his shitty microbrews and just being too much for James to handle at this level of vodka.

“Why you try to leave? Sad because I not Paulie?” Geno asks, shaking his head at James while wearing his best hangdog expression. Sadly, it’s still pretty effective, even though James thought he’d be immune by now.

“No,” James protests, but his voice sounds hollow even to his own ears, and Geno makes a tching sound before clumsily patting him on the head.

“Is okay. I best, but if you have special place for Paulie, I can share.”

James shakes his head, but has to stop when it starts making the room spin. “It’s nothing, G. No big deal.”

Geno gives him a Look at that, and James tries to squirm away again, only to get Geno’s noodle arms clamped around his shoulders for his trouble.

“It’s okay, Lazy. You have problem, you need chat, you text me, yes?”

“Yeah,” James gets out, “yeah, sure thing, you’re crushing me, please let go.”

“Okay, good talk, Lazy, now I go see Sid. He is sad when I gone, unlike you, but I understand. Is okay,” Geno replies, scrubbing James’ hair before stumbling off the bench. James watches him go back towards Sid, who makes a face that would almost be embarrassing on anyone else, but simply makes Sid look endearing. The worst part is that Geno makes the same sort of face back. Both of them are sloppy and drunk and smiling and the sight of it makes James kind of want to face-plant into the nearest pint of beer.

“You okay there James?” he hears from above his head, and he looks up from where he’s buried his face in his forearms to find Paulie softly smiling at him. 

James promptly feels a deep wave of gratitude for whoever designed this bar to have the worst lighting possible, because then it’s a little less likely that Paulie can see the way his cheeks are burning up.

“Absolutely fantastic,” he manages, but not without a bit of a slur. He can’t even get mad when Paulie laughs though, because before he realizes it he’s being pulled up, an arm flung across Paulie’s shoulders.

They’re good shoulders. Very strong, very broad. James can feel the muscles underneath Paulie’s t-shirt, and wonders what it’d be like to watch them shift and move, wonders if –

James is not drunk enough to go down that road. Even if he is pretty wasted. There’s idly fantasizing in your tomb of a house, and then there’s actively wondering about sex with your straight teammate as he holds you up like you’re nothing, and James isn’t an idiot. Much.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Paulie says, and James realizes he must have said the last bit out loud. “Come on, I’ll get you home.”

From there everything’s a little blurry. James remembers getting pushed into a cab, and then he zones out while staring just past Paulie’s face, noticing the way the neon light sometimes catches on his hair before turning to look out the window. Then Paulie’s dragging him again, out of the taxi and up into a living room.

There’s more than a couch and a TV – there’s actual pictures on the walls and books everywhere, and that on top of the immediate feeling of being home is what clues James in.

“I can go to my place,” he says, even as Paulie ignores him to first take off his own shoes, then help James with his. He has to kneel to do it and James watches the light from the street play out on his face and the red-gold of his hair, and then he’s thinking things he really shouldn’t be thinking when one of his best friends has his head at dick level.

Once the shoes are off, Paulie tows James up into the kitchen, pouring two glasses of water and handing one over. “Seriously, it’s fine,” James says again, even as he obediently starts sipping after Paulie glares at him.

“I’m not leaving you in that house all by yourself. Do you even have running water?” Paulie asks, shooting James another glare when he tries to respond instead of finishing the glass. Once James has finished, still feeling a little light-headed and possibly swaying on his feet, Paulie’s eyes almost soften. “It’s fine, James. Just go to sleep and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

“I want French toast,” James mumbles, but he’s already starting to stagger towards the room he still thinks of as his, hearing a soft “Good night” as he goes.

He lands on the bed, the comforter just as soft as he remembers, and stares up at the ceiling. Through the wall he can hear Paulie shuffling around in his room, the thuds as drawers and doors close.

It’s too close and not enough, and despite the fact that five seconds earlier James was swaying on his feet, it takes a long time for him to finally fall asleep.

-

A few days later, James wakes up and overnight it’s become fucking freezing. The chill settles in James’ bones as he crunches across the street towards Paulie’s house, nose shoved into his scarf. By the time he makes it to the front door, all he wants from the world is some goddamn breakfast.

Once inside and pulling off his boots, he realizes that he hears a voice coming out of the kitchen – and it isn’t Paulie’s, either. As he walks up the stairs, the voice continues, a Midwestern drawl that’s completely unfamiliar. For a single irrational moment, James wonders if Paulie brought someone home, and he feels a spike of jealousy before shoving it down, shaking his head at his own ridiculousness. There’s nothing to feel jealous about – Paulie is just Paulie, and what he gets up to in his own time is none of James’ business. Really.

Besides, a few steps later it becomes apparent that the voice isn’t actually attached to a person when a burst of static interrupts the smooth monologue. As James rounds the stairs into the kitchen, he just finds Paulie at the counter, doing something with a whisk, and a radio plugged into the wall.

“Morning, Paulie,” James says, and Paulie turns around to look at him over his shoulder.

“Hey James,” he says back, continuing to whisk but walking towards the counter as James plops himself on a kitchen stool. He pauses for just long enough to grab a mug of coffee, and hands it over. 

James takes the coffee gratefully, burying his nose in the steam before taking a sip. He gives himself a few seconds of silence to bask in the caffeine before gesturing at the radio with his mug. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” Paulie says absently, pouring some yellow stuff into a pan and starting to sprinkle grated cheese on top, “A Prairie Home Companion.”

“Prairie what?”

Paulie shoots him a look over the counter. “Garrison Keillor? Ever heard of him?”

“Uh,” James says blankly. “No.”

Paulie rolls his eyes at him before turning, sticking the pan of cheese and what, after he thinks about it, is probably eggs into the oven. “It’s just a radio show. Reminds me of home.”

James listens for a little as he sips his coffee, the radio host telling some long story that he doesn’t really understand about geese and an ice house. The way he shapes his words is soft and a little muffled, and the whole thing is soothing enough that James could probably fall asleep at the counter.

Maybe it’s the lull of the radio, or Paulie’s off-key humming as he double-checks whatever’s in the oven, but James feels relaxed and sleepy, enough so that his normal instincts for self-preservation are out the window.

“Do you miss it?” James asks before he can think better of it, and Paulie turns, giving him a look over the counter. “Minnesota, I mean,” he continues, because James is an idiot and apparently hasn’t learned anything in the last year.

Paulie leans back on the counter, giving James a shrug. “As much as anyone misses home, I guess. No place like it.” Then he snorts, giving James the sly glance that means he’s definitely making fun of him, and says, “Still freaking out like last year? Forgotten I’m already locked up?”

“No,” James huffs. He hadn’t freaked out last year, just – possibly hysterically expressed his feelings on Paulie leaving. There may or may not have been gesturing with a beer bottle and terrible metaphors involved. It could be considered not one of James’ finer moments. These things happen.

He says as much, and Paulie full on laughs at him, eyes crinkling up at the corners. As he turns to take the egg thing out of the oven, James resists the urge to put his face on the counter and despair. 

“You could come with me, you know,” Paulie says as he slices into the egg dish, which smells amazing.

“To where?” James asks, making grabby hands over the counter until Paulie hands him a plate of warm eggy goodness. He cuts off the tip of the slice with his fork and pops it in his mouth, only to flail when it’s too hot and burns his tongue.

“You need to wait for your frittata to cool, dumbass,” Paulie tells him, ignoring the grade-A sad face James sends back, and then says, “To Minnesota. I’ll be going over for Thanksgiving – you should come along.”

It takes a second for James to remember that he means American Thanksgiving, and he just barely manages not to ask why he’d be going home late. Then he’s torn – he does want to go, but at the same time he can’t even think about spending that much time with Paulie and his family. Fuck, that had been the reason he’d moved – not that he’d been that successful, as Geno makes clear to him with plenty of significant glances every time he talks about going over for breakfast or after a game.

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be – you know, in the way or anything?” he manages.

“You’re fine,” Paulie says back, giving him a small smile before taking a sip of coffee. Once he finishes, he continues, “My parents have been hearing about you for a while, and I’m sure my sister would love the chance to share embarrassing teenage stories for a change.”

“I – oh,” James says, and this is the moment when he should be saying no, because this is too close to what he wants without being enough, but James has never not been kind of an idiot when it comes to Paulie, and so he says, “Yeah, I’ll come with you to Minnesota.”

-

The Wednesday night before Thanksgiving they catch a red-eye out of Pittsburgh, the exhaustion from the game settling in James’ muscles until he’s sure he’ll never make it out of the tiny airplane chair again. Paulie falls asleep with his head resting on the wall, and after about ten minutes of shifting around, James tips his head back and hopes the cabin lights dim soon.

A few hours later, he blinks awake to the flight attendants informing them that they are now landing in Minneapolis-St. Paul, and could everyone please return their seats and tray tables to the upright position as they have now begun their descent. At some point during the flight he had shifted and stuck his face into the juncture of Paulie’s neck and shoulder, and even as he blearily looks around he can smell Paulie’s deodorant and skin still clean from the post-game shower.

In a clear show of supreme stupidity, he doesn’t immediately move his head, but waits until Paulie starts to stir before sitting up, just to breathe him in a little longer.

As the plane taxis in, he gets a text from Stammer – James hadn’t even texted him about his plans, what the fuck – saying, _so i hear your minnesotan is taking you home_ , and then five seconds later, _you know you can text me about this shit right?_

James frowns down at his phone and types back, _what the fuck, did geno talk to you_ , and then, _also nothing to text about anyways_. When his phone buzzes back at him, he slides it back into his pants pocket, waiting for the seatbelt light to turn off. Next to him, Paulie stretches, and his shirt rides up enough for James to see a flash of pale skin.

He turns to look at the light strips on the airplane floor, stands up with the crowd as the light dings off, and very deliberately doesn’t think about the way Paulie looked, sleep-rumpled and soft-eyed and too fucking close.

After grabbing their things from baggage, they go to the garage where Paulie keeps his Minnesota car. It’s an old pickup, a blue Ford with a bench seat in the cab and a tonneau to protect the bags from the snow softly falling outside. James stuffs his hands into his jacket as Paulie starts the engine, cursing softly while waiting for the heat to kick in. 

“It’ll be about an hour to get home,” Paulie says while flipping through the radio channels, merging onto the freeway seamlessly.

“Sounds good,” James says. Out the window he can see lights sparkling through the soft white flurries. They’ll probably be gone by the morning – it fluctuates between 3 and -4 on any given day, according to the weather app he consults – but it makes everything seem quieter.

Next to him, Paulie starts tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as something folk plays on the radio, strings and plucked sounds and foreign vowels. The sound of the strings is weirdly soothing, and James finds himself nodding off, curled up against the passenger side door as snow hits the windshield and Paulie hums along.

-

He wakes up to a hand on his shoulder and a voice in his ear.

“James. James, c’mon. We need to get inside.”

“ ‘m up,” he mumbles, flailing his arms until his hand meets someone’s shoulder. It takes him a second to realize the shoulder belongs to Paulie.

Paulie just laughs at him, wrapped up in a scarf and his heavy winter coat. “C’mon Nealer, let’s get inside. Knowing my mom, she’s still up waiting for us.”

“Fuck,” James says, rubbing his eyes, “fuck, it’s fucking cold, fuck – your mom’s waiting for us?”

“Yeah,” Paulie says, “she wanted to make sure we made it here safe. Now come on, get. My toes are going to freeze off.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” James mutters, opening his door and practically falling out of the cab. 

It only takes a few minutes for them to get their bags out of the truck bed, and then they’re trooping across to the front door of a two-story house with a garage and a sun porch. As they make their way up to the door, the front light flicks on, and then a round, smiling woman whom James sort of recognizes from the pictures Paulie has up around his house opens the door. 

“Paul!” she says quietly, ushering them in and waiting for them to pull off their shoes before wrapping Paulie up in a huge hug. “I’m so glad you boys made it here safely, I have to say I was worried about the roads, especially in that old truck of yours.”

“We were fine, Ma, nothing to worry about,” Paulie says, finally breaking them apart with a big grin on his face. “It’s good to see you.”

“Oh, it’s just wonderful that you can be here for Thanksgiving, your father’s so excited. And you must be James!” she continues, giving James a bone-breaking hug before pulling back to look him in the face. “I’m Beth. I swear we’ve met before, but just in case, you have to know both Dale and I are just so pleased that Paulie said he was bringing you here.”

“I’m happy to be here,” James manages, and Beth beams at him.

“Well, the two of you must be exhausted – I’ve set up your old room with the air mattress, Paul, so you can both stay in there if that’s alright.”

“Sounds great,” Paulie says back, and he hugs his mom again before shouldering his duffel and leading James up the stairs, Beth a few steps behind.

They make it into Paul’s old room and James barely has any time to look around at the posters and trophies before he collapses onto the air mattress. From up above him, he can hear Paulie saying something, probably about how James should take the real bed or something equally Minnesota nice, but James just sticks out an exhausted thumbs up before letting himself pass out.

At one point, he wakes up in the middle of the night to find a blanket pulled over his shoulders. He curls into the warmth, listening to the soft noises of someone breathing above him, and then settles back into sleep.

-

James wakes up and wanders into the kitchen, still in a ratty Pirates shirt and boxers, to find Paulie and his mom hard at work.

“Morning,” Paulie says, and James nods back, practically shoving his hand in his mouth to stop his yawn, because he really doesn’t want Beth to think he’s rude and uncivilized. 

“Would you like some coffee, James?” she asks.

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” he says, ignoring the look of exasperation Paulie shoots him over the kitchen island. What? James has manners.

Beth hands him a mug and a roll, and James gratefully sits on a barstool, watching Paulie and his mom cook. They move around each other easily, sliding past one another to grab knives or measuring spoons without jostling elbows or bumping bowls. As he watches, he notices all the ways they’re similar, leveling off scoops of flour with the dull edge of a butter knife or slicing onions with the same exactness. He sees Paulie in the way his mom swipes a finger along the rim of a mixing bowl to check flavor, and it makes him smile in a way that’s probably pretty ridiculous looking.

“Is there any way I can help out?” he asks after a few minutes, and Beth flashes him a smile. 

“Why don’t you put some real clothes on, and then you can help Paul make saucijes,” she tells him. 

Ten minutes later, he’s elbow deep in ground pork and beef, swearing at how cold it is. “What the fu—dge, this is freezing, are you sure you let it thaw?” he curses, manfully ignoring the way Paulie snorts at him.

“It’s part of the process, Nealer,” he says, eyes twinkling a little as he rolls out some sort of dough and remains completely unsympathetic to James’ plight. “Saucije-making is an art.”

“Well these saw-whatever must be good, because I think my fingers are going to fall off,” he says back, shaking out his hands in the hopes of regaining feeling in his fingertips. “Seriously, I expect great things.”

“Oh, they’ll turn out just fine,” Beth says from her place at the counter, holding onto a mug of coffee. Her hands are probably toasty warm, and James mutters grumpily before turning back to his task.

“You want to incorporate the pepper and allspice more,” Paulie says from over his shoulder, and James doesn’t _jump_ , not even a little, at the sound of his voice right by his ear.

“I thought this was pretty mixed!” James tells him, waving his hands around and wincing when a little piece of sausage flies off and lands on a very nice decorative tile that reads, _The Kitchen is the Heart of the Home_.

Paulie makes a “tch” noise at him, and then shoves his hands into the bowl, pushing his palms down on James’ and ending up practically plastered against James’ back. “You have to use your hands more,” Paulie says, his breath on the back of James’ neck, and it’s only just barely that James manages not to shudder. Over by the counter, Beth snorts into her coffee, but when James looks over, she just looks at him flatly before opening up a magazine.

“Right,” he says, voice too loud in the kitchen, “so now what?”

“Well,” Paulie says, and he still hasn’t moved away, what the fuck, “after you’ve actually mixed this, we’ll roll some sausages and wrap them in pastry, and then bake them for about an hour, hour and fifteen or so.”

“Okay,” James says, and Paulie’s still there, a long lean of heat against James’ back and hands pressing on James’ and this whole thing just really isn’t good for James’ state of mind. “Okay, so, this is mixed, right?”

“Close enough,” Paulie agrees, and, thank fuck, finally detaches from James. “Now, we roll.”

Fifteen minutes, James has a plate stacked with tiny rolled sausages next to him, Paulie carefully rolling out dough and slicing it into squares with a butter knife. He has flour all over his hair and on his nose, and it’s endearing enough to make James want to cry.

“And these bake for like, an hour?” James asks, carefully lining up the finished sausages on baking sheets covered in a paper grocery bag Mrs. Martin had cut up while sitting at the counter. 

“Hour and a half, or thereabouts,” Beth says, taking another sip of coffee. “Sarah should be here by then. She was driving up from Chicago with Theo.”

“Theo?” Paulie asks, swatting James’ knuckles with the butter knife when he tries to sneak a little bit of dough.

“He’s the one who works in marketing for some independent bookstore. Apparently it was too expensive for him to fly back to San Francisco to see his folks, but I told him it wouldn’t be any trouble to put him up. I know last night there wasn’t a lot of choices, but you’ll still be all right with sharing that room? I could put up the couch for you –“ 

“It’s fine, ma’am. We can share,” James says, because he does too have manners, and Beth nods in approval.

“Well, that’s that then. Now, if you boys are finished up with the saucijes, you can start on peeling vegetables. I need the potatoes, yams, parsnips, and carrots all ready for roasting as soon as you can get them done.”

“You’d better let me do that, Mom, James might take off a fingertip,” Paulie chirps, and James squawks back at him, muttering something incomprehensible even to himself about how Paulie might just take off an ear while both Martins laugh at him.

-

By noon, James feels totally justified in taking over the couch in the Martin’s den, where Dale is sitting and watching football on a widescreen surrounded by what are presumably pictures of Paulie’s sports teams. “You follow football, son?” he asks as James sprawls across the couch, and when James shakes his head, he immediately starts in on what sounds like a complete history of the Minnesota Vikings past and present.

James is just about to fall asleep to Dale’s voice expanding on the difficulties of the defense when someone sits on his legs. “What the fu-- Paulie, get off me,” he groans, all of the air in his lungs disappearing as Paulie settles on his thighs.

“Move your legs, Lazy,” Paulie shoots back, and James reluctantly lifts his legs. He’s just about to pull them in towards himself when Paulie grabs his ankles, settling his calves across his lap, and James just about hyperventilates.

The quiet tiredness he had settled into during Mr. Martin’s football monologue disappears completely as Paulie settles into the couch, a thumb sweeping circles around the bone in James’ ankles as Paulie asks his dad how the rest of the family is doing. Dale seizes on the new topic with enthusiasm, telling Paulie about the huge number of new cousins and in-laws and babies that have appeared since Paulie last heard about them. From his place on the couch, James watches Paulie nod along from under his eyelashes, trying not to be too obvious about the way he focuses on the shadows on Paulie’s neck, or the way that Paulie’s still holding his ankle, rubbing circles into his skin.

After he hears about the fourth, or possibly sixth, uncle who’s just had a new grandbaby, James yawns and asks, “So how many uncles do you have?”

Both Dale and Paulie chuckle, and Dale says, “I’m one of fifteen, so quite a few.”

“Jesus,” James breathes, and Paulie laughs again, the movement of it vibrating against James’ leg. “And none of them are coming here?”

“No, that’s Christmas,” Paulie tells him, voice soft. “Thanksgiving’s just for us.”

“Oh,” James says, “that must be nice,” and he desperately tries not to read into the fact that he’s been included in that “us”. 

“I don’t know, it’s certainly nice to see all those great-nephews and nieces. It’s good to see young people starting their families, and nothing brings a place alive like kids,” Dale replies. When James turns his head to look, he sees Paulie and his dad having some sort of silent conversation with their eyes, and Paulie’s stopped rubbing James’ ankle.

After a moment of silence that makes James stare at the TV, Paulie says, “So what were you telling James about the Vikings, Dad?”

Dale seizes on the question and starts talking again about defensive positioning and running backs, the weird tension disappearing as he talks. Every once in a while Paulie offers up a point, and after a few minutes, James feels his thumb start to rub James’ ankle again.

-

At one thirty, a loud banging on the front door wakes James up from the doze he had fallen into about halfway through Dale’s description of the Vikings’ management. He flails, accidentally waking Paulie up from where he had fallen asleep above him, and they both fall off the couch with about the grace of a pair of five year olds. Together they stumble into the entry hall, where Beth is hugging a short blonde woman and Dale is shaking hands with the tall man standing right behind her.

“Paul!” the woman says, and she breaks away from her mother to launch herself at Paulie, who takes the hug with surprisingly good grace. “Thank God you made it! I was starting to get worried that the game would go into overtime and you’d miss your flight.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Paulie says, gently setting her back down. “I was worried about you guys – the roads were alright?”

“They were fine,” the man says with a smile, teeth blindingly white against his dark skin. “Sarah got us here without any trouble – she knows I’m useless in the snow.”

“It’s true – you city people just don’t know how to drive in winter. One snowflake and you all have a panic attack,” Sarah chirps back. “Anyways, Theo, this is my older brother, Paul.” 

She drags Paulie towards Theo so they can shake hands, and then fixes her eyes on James with a grin that definitely reminds him of Paulie at his slyest, and thus most dangerous. “And who’s this?”

“That’s James, dear,” Beth says, “he plays with Paul in Pittsburgh.”

“James, huh,” Sarah replies, still grinning at him. “I’ve heard a _lot_ about you.”

James shoots a quick glance at Paulie, wondering what that could mean, but Paulie doesn’t make eye contact. “Uh, yeah,” James finally says, giving a little wave, then feeling too awkward and shoving his hands back in his pockets. “Hi.”

“Sarah,” Paulie says, almost sounding petulant, and Sarah finally subsides, shooting James one last evil grin before turning back towards her brother and Theo.

Beth claps her hands, and everyone in the hall turns to look at her. “So! Since you and Theo got here latest, dear, the two of you can set the table. We’ll eat as soon as you’ve got it ready.”

“Sounds great, Ma,” Sarah replies, and Theo nods, both of them leaving their coats on the hooks before trooping into the kitchen.

“Well,” Paulie says, voice wry, “that’s my sister.”

“Awesome,” James says back. Paulie laughs at that, and James can feel himself grinning in response, even as Paulie’s parents look at them, raising their eyebrows a little.

“Why don’t you boys go watch some more football,” Beth says, and Paulie gives James another grin as they head back towards the den.

-

When Beth finally declares dinner to be ready around three, James is hungry enough to possibly eat an entire turkey by himself, and the sight of the food spread over the dining room table actually makes his mouth water a little. There’s the turkey, obviously – but there’s also mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables, and what looks like homemade cranberry sauce instead of the stuff from a can, and on the sideboard sit two pies that look like they came out of one of his mom’s foodie magazines.

He has to say, however, that he’s almost most excited for the saucijes that sit on a platter towards the end where his and Paulie’s plates are. The pastry had browned and crisped, and they smell fucking amazing. James thinks about reaching out to sneak one onto his plate, but Paulie shoots him a look from across the table, and he sticks his hands in his lap.

“Okay, everyone, join hands for grace,” Dale tells them, and James dutifully takes Sarah and Beth’s hands, bowing his head and sneaking peeks around the room as Dale recites a prayer by heart. Eventually he releases them, only to order everyone to send their plates around to have some turkey, and James is sure that he’s being visibly antsy and impatient and decides to just sit on his hands until his plate makes it back to him.

Finally on some invisible signal, or possibly family telepathy, they all get to start eating, and James immediately grabs some of everything, possibly overfilling his plate and not really caring at all. Everyone else seems to have the same idea, with each person taking what would probably be considered an enormous amount of food even by hockey standards. Even so, Beth and Theo strike up a conversation almost immediately, in between bites of turkey and potatoes.

“So you work in marketing?” Beth asks, delicately cutting at her vegetables and smiling over the turkey.

“Yes, I’m one of the co-heads of our department,” Theo responds, pushing his glasses up his nose and rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “It’s a great place to work – everyone’s really friendly and cooperative, and Chicago’s great.”

“And how did you meet our Sarah?”

“We met at a sports bar,” Sarah butts in, waving her fork. “I was rooting for the Pens, obviously, and he was rooting for the Blackhawks, and then we won so he bought me a beer.”

“I wasn’t allowed to talk to her after the Finals for three days straight,” Theo adds, and James grins at that.

“Nice to know your loyalties lie in the right place,” he tells Sarah, and she grins back at him, expression turning calculating.

“So, James,” she says, “how exactly did my brother convince you to come out here?”

Paulie actually groans, rubbing at his forehead with one hand while James splutters. “I, uh, he didn’t have to do anything – I mean, he offered, and I thought it’d be great to meet everyone, and – I mean it is great, everyone here is great.”

“Right,” Sarah says, while Beth beams at him and pats his hand while putting more green beans with bacon on his plate. “Well, I’m glad Paul finally brought you home. Has Mom shown you the school pictures yet?”

“Sarah, oh my god,” Paulie groans, and Dale laughs, full-bellied and loud.

“Don’t worry James, I’m sure Sarah will show you plenty of those,” he says, and Sarah nods, mouth full.

Fortunately, they start focusing more on eating then, and James doesn’t let himself focus on the way Sarah said “finally brought you home”, instead grabbing more saucijes and nudging Paulie’s ankle under the table. When Paulie looks up from his food, James offers him a grin, and Paulie smiles back, something small and soft that James wants to put in a box and keep for himself. Or something.

Paulie makes him think in metaphors, and James would maybe spend a few minutes over-thinking that but then Paulie’s mom stands up to cut the pumpkin chiffon pie, and he forgets the thought.

-

After moving the dishes into the kitchen to deal with later, putting pans to soak in the sink and shoving silverware in the dishwasher, they all migrate as a group into the living room, laying around on the furniture and generally being as lazy as possible.

“That was amazing,” James says from his position on the floor, having had his head tugged unceremoniously on top of Paulie’s legs. “Thank you so much for letting me come here.”

“Oh, it was no trouble at all. Besides, Paul insisted, and it’s always nice to have new faces at the table,” Beth tells him from her rocking chair, where she’s carefully doing some sort of embroidery thing. 

James shoots Paulie a look. When Paulie had asked him, it had sounded like a casual thing, not something he’d insisted on, and James tries to communicate that with his eyebrows. However, Paulie just looks down at him, unmoved, and James sighs and gives up. Instead, he says, “I can see where you got your cooking skills from,” giving Paulie a sock to the thigh.

“Yeah, they’re a definite improvement over yours,” Paulie replies lazily, and James reaches up to flap a hand in his face.

“Hey! I did my share of work on those sau-whatsits.”

“It’s saucijes, and yeah, because that’s the only time you’ve managed to cook without burning something,” Paulie says back, and James pouts, turning to look back up at the wood-laminate ceiling fan. 

They all lay around in silence for a while. James is pretty sure Dale’s already nodded off in his recliner, and Sarah and Theo are cuddling on the couch above him and Paulie. Before he fell asleep, Dale had started a fire in the fireplace, and James finds himself drifting to the sound of the wood crackling and popping, Paulie’s thigh warm and solid beneath his head.

He wakes up to Paulie’s fingers combing through his hair, and he finds himself curling into it before he can think about it. Beth is humming something, and Sarah and Theo are whispering on the couch above, and when James looks up, Paulie looks so fucking content that it makes something in his chest ache.

Finally Sarah stretches and says, “So, I think that was enough recovery time.”

“Hmm?” James hums, and Paulie’s fingers stop in his hair.

“Cards, young Neal. Family tradition – come on, get up, get!” Sarah says, yanking Theo to his feet and then shaking Dale awake.

James doesn’t get up immediately, not wanting to lose the feeling of Paulie, but Paulie says, “C’mon, Lazy, we wouldn’t want Sarah to go mad with power.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that. It’s bad enough when Geno does it, I don’t need you doing it too,” James whines, but he gets up, offering Paulie a hand once he’s on his feet. Together they walk over to the card table where Sarah’s already set up camp, Paulie shaking out his legs to get rid of the pins and needles.

“Alright, so the name of the game is Golf. Aces are low, face cards are awful, and if you cheat, I’ll stab you with the carving knife. You ready for this?” Sarah grins at them, shuffling a few decks of cards together before beginning to deal.

James shakes his head once, and then leans in towards Paulie. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Paulie’ll keep you from losing too badly,” Sarah replies, and then, “Alright, right of the dealer first, so Theo, draw pile or discards?”

-

“Your family is nuts,” James says. “Was that even a real game?”

“Just wait until you play Hand and Foot with them. Dad’ll hide his Foot in his shirt pocket so we don’t know if he’s played it yet,” Paulie replies, handing him a mug of hot chocolate and grabbing a blanket from the basket in the corner of the living room. He wraps it around both of their shoulders, and after a moment of internal debate, James decides to go for it and scoots closer.

“I have to say, I didn’t understand half of those words,” he replies, and Paulie laughs.

“Cards are a big deal.”

“I guess so,” James reluctantly agrees, taking a sip of hot chocolate.

They sit in the quiet for a while. Occasionally James can hear the sound of Paulie’s mom washing the dishes, Dale quietly talking to her in the kitchen. Sometimes they laugh, and the sound rings in the house. Sarah and Theo had gone up to her room after she had trounced them all, laughing at James’ score before dragging Theo up the stairs. It’s just Paulie and him in the living room, with the lights dim and the window showing the snow softly falling in the yard. 

Everything is picturesque, almost like from a movie, and James – it’s not that they don’t get into holidays at home, they have their family recipes and their pictures lined up on the mantle. His house has all the wear and tear that comes from five kids growing up there, with mementos and keepsakes and photo albums. Still, somehow this feels different, as if it’s somehow more lived-in. 

It’s warm here, the kind of comfortable that comes of years of traditions, blankets put in baskets and pictures on walls and the ritual of lighting a fire, and James thinks he gets it, maybe, the way Paulie looks when he talks about home.

“Do you ever think about staying?” James blurts out. “I mean – you really seem to love it here.”

He can’t bring himself to look over at Paulie’s face, but instead buries himself in the mug of hot chocolate. Even so, he can feel the back of his neck burning all the same.

“I mean, I’d get it,” he says, after the silence stretches on a little too long for him to stand. “It seems like – Minnesota seems cool, and all, and your family’s great, I get why you’d want to stay near them, so.”

“James,” Paulie says, but James can’t look, just stares in his mug.

“You know, you could always just play for the Wild in a few years, you know, pull a Parise. That’d be – I mean, it wouldn’t be great, obviously, I mean, they have a lot of maturing to do and stuff, and I would – the team would miss you, obviously. I mean, you’re important to me – to them. But like, that’s in two years, so maybe you’ll want something different by then –“

“James,” Paulie says again, and this time it sounds closer, and when James looks up from his mug of hot chocolate, Paulie’s looking at him.

His eyes are warm and dark and focused on James, and when James swallows, they drift down to look at his neck. 

“Just because I come from here doesn’t mean it’s the only place I call home,” Paulie says, and James blinks, because –

“What are you saying,” he says, quiet and fast, “Paulie, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying –“

Paulie kisses him.

It takes a second for it to register, but then it clicks that this is Paulie, this is Paulie _kissing him_ , jesus fuck, and James has to blindly put his mug on what’s hopefully the coffee table so he can get closer. Paulie hums into his mouth, and James – James is so easy for that, because he opens his lips enough for Paulie to lick into his mouth, clambering over so that he’s straddling Paulie’s thighs. By the time he settles, Paulie’s got a hand in his hair, pulling just enough, and yeah, so what if it’s totally cliché, it feels _amazing_. James finds himself moaning brokenly into Paulie’s mouth, small sounds that Paulie swallows as his other hand runs up and down James’ back.

“Paulie,” James says, over and over again, because _fuck_ , he has Paulie wanting him. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he runs them up and down Paulie’s arms, his sides, into his hair, trying to find the places that make Paulie shiver.

They keep going for – James doesn’t know how long, but eventually Paulie pulls away, running his hands up and down James’ sides, their foreheads touching as they breathe into each other’s mouths.

“What I was saying,” Paulie says, breathless and flushed, “was that if you want me to stay, you could just say so instead of having some sort of panic attack.”

“Shut up,” James breathes back, “I wasn’t panicking.”

“Just a little,” Paulie says, but he smiles. “Besides, like I would up and leave you in Pittsburgh. You’d starve.”

“Wouldn’t,” James huffs, but he can’t help grinning back, or running his hands over Paulie’s body, making sure this is real. “Fuck, Paulie, you couldn’t have told me earlier?”

Paulie sighs, one hand drifting to settle on James’ neck, a thumb rubbing the skin under his ear. “I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t want to – you were too important to fuck up just because I wasn’t certain.”

James huffs a laugh. “Paulie, I went to Minnesota on a red-eye flight for a holiday I don’t even celebrate. I touched freezing sausage, I slept on the air mattress, I listened to your dad talk about a sport that honestly makes no sense – I even played cards with your sister. That’s pretty fucking certain.”

“I suppose,” Paulie says back, before nipping at the hinge of James’ jaw. When James sighs, he continues, before pulling away just enough to say, “At least now my parents can make all the comments they want about us adopting so they can finally have some grandkids.”

At that, James laughs, and keeps laughing until Paulie starts kissing him again. Then he gets a bit distracted, until someone clears their throat very distinctly behind the couch.

“Boys, it might be time to go up to your room,” Beth says, and James pulls away, feeling himself flush a deep, dark red.

“Right, yes ma’am,” he says, trying not to blush harder as Beth laughs and walks back into the kitchen. 

When he looks back at Paulie, who’s cheeks are a similar shade of dull red, he says, “So, uh, we could go up to your –“

“Right, shit, yeah,” Paulie says, “Get off me, Lazy.”

“Don’t call me that,” James whines, but he gets up, immediately feeling colder because of the loss of Paulie’s heat.

“Oh, sorry, _Nealer_ ,” Paulie says, drawing out the last syllable just to be a dick. James narrows his eyes at him, but Paulie just smiles back in a blandly polite way, which is the special face that James _knows_ means he’s being mocked.

“Whatever, let’s get up to your room already,” James says, and he offers Paulie a hand, pulling him up to his feet and nearly falling over himself. 

Together they stumble up the stairs towards Paulie’s room. James can’t stop smiling to the point where his cheeks are starting to hurt, but Paulie drags him up the stairs by holding his hand, their fingers laced together. He feels like a giddy teenager back in high school, fumbling around in someone’s house and trying to keep quiet, and by the time they make it into Paulie’s room he has the full-on giggles.

“So I’m assuming I don’t have to sleep on the air mattress?” he whispers, and Paulie rolls his eyes.

“Get your pants off already,” Paulie says, sounding both long-suffering and fond.

“I don’t know if I’m that kind of girl,” James teases back, his tongue stuck in his cheek as he shucks off his jeans.

“I’m not going to fuck you in my childhood bedroom, that’s just weird,” Paulie says, but his eyes are crinkled and James feels fully justified in kissing him.

They get lost in that for a while. Being horizontal makes everything seem like a lot more, especially when Paulie bears down on top of him and sticks a thigh between his legs while he fucks into James’ mouth with his tongue. That part James really appreciates.

However, just before it gets beyond the point of no return, Paulie pulls away. “Gotta stop, James,” he breathes.

“Fuck,” James says, his brain still stuck on the way Paulie had grabbed his hips and pulled him down. “Fuck. I. You’re going to make this up to me, right?”

“As soon as we get home,” Paulie says, and James can’t help his big smile at that. Apparently able to read his mind, Paulie continues, running a thumb down the side of James’ face, “I told you, Minnesota isn’t the only place I call home.”


End file.
